


Summer Rain Reunions

by Maoutasia



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Modern Era, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 12:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maoutasia/pseuds/Maoutasia
Summary: Even hundreds of years later and thousands of miles away, they still managed to find a way to cross paths.





	Summer Rain Reunions

_ “No matter how much you change _ _ in the future, I’ll always see through you, because I know your true nature.” _

 

Jingles resonate in the misty rain; honks and puffs of exhaust, the creak of electrical cable and the rattle of steel as trams clatter their way into stations compose the landscape of the city campus. Etoile shivers under her thin cardigan, the brown cotton not doing enough to protect her from the abrupt weather change. The cream skirt and tights were also a mistake, the young woman severely underestimating the city’s ability to flash through seasons in a single day. She toys with the straps on her bag; a Byzantine cross, a fluffy hawk and a sword, silly knick-knacks she couldn’t resist buying when they tugged at her memories. The buildings around her glitter in the twilight, the pink glow pulling up a memory of a similar sight.

 

_ The walls of Ecbatana are lit in the rosy glow of dawn, the air filled with the clamour of animals and people as the city wakes up to a new golden age. The air is crisp, and cold, and she can feel Arslan staring at her in concern, like he wants to wrap her in another layer of clothes. They’re finally saying their farewells, standing at the borders of the city. Etoile had said her piece to her Parsian friends last night (it felt strange to admit it to herself, but these people were dear to her), and had fully intended to depart at the crack of dawn, but somehow Arslan had been waiting for her patiently, with the guards that were to escort her in tow. He was the last person she wanted to see, the most difficult farewell she had, and it tightened her chest to be left alone with him, where her words stuck in her throat and her heart clenched. She didn’t want to do this, but she couldn’t bear not to either. _

_ Etoile looks up into his eyes, and she can see a similar conflict swirling in the blue. Arslan had changed so much from the pampered little boy she had kidnapped. He had matured in so many ways, from the set of his face to the sad wisdom in his eyes. He truly had the presence of a king, it awed and stirred the hearts of everyone around him, even her, and it made her smile to remember how ridiculously long it took for her to realise his identity. And yet, right now, he had an adorably sullen look on his face that brought him right back down to eleven; despite how hard he was trying to hide it, she could tell he was restraining himself. _

 

_ She didn’t want to leave, but she couldn’t stay. She’s a proud Lusitanian, and a soldier to boot; she shouldn’t even be friends with him in the first place. But fate kept crossing their strings and they’re both here now and her heart is ripping itself out of her chest and she hates how badly she wants to stay, how much she wants to grab his hand and cling to the man that killed her with kindness, opened her heart and her eyes to her own injustices. Oh Yaldabaoth she’s  _ proud _ of him, this heathen, for taking back his country from her own people. And she can feel a pit of guilt under her heart for feeling this way, a traitor to her own patriotism, jumbled in with all the fear and joy and love. Her countrymen need her, they need someone in the turmoil left by this war to fight for them, to protect them, she can’t afford to have doubts, to betray her people. Lusitania is more important than her feelings. _

 

_ “You’re always welcome to visit Ecbatana again. You’ll be my guest of honour in the palace.” _

_“Y-You too. You should visit Lusitania, and see it for yourself. Though I don’t have any palaces to accommodate you in.”_ _She replies with a blush._ _Arslan gives a good natured laugh. They both know it’s unlikely. Pars will take time to reform and stabilise under Arslan’s rule._

_ “Become a wonderful knight.” He squeezes her hands in his. She nods in return, smiling shyly. _

_ “I will.” _

 

She isn’t sure why she’s thinking of him now. Perhaps it’s the rain. Something about him reminded her of this soft drizzle. Maybe it’s because of her 19th birthday coming up. She looks down at her knee, feeling it over with her fingertips. Nothing’s there, she knows that, she’s checked a thousand times, yet somehow it occasionally tingled with the ghost of an injury. It made her chest tighten with apprehension. Hindsight was cruel, it made it so easy to regret, to wonder why she left things unsaid and sigh at how stupidly proud she once was, too cowardly to admit her own feelings. Their parting now felt so incomplete, and that lack of closure haunted her at night. There had been so many things left undone, unspoken, that she almost felt bitter for retaining the memories of her past life when they coloured the world around her so. Ignorance is bliss. Her shoulders tremble as she grasps at her arms, pushing down the painful longing inside of her. Just stop remembering. That life was over. There was no going back.

 

And suddenly there’s a presence at her side; two quiet footsteps and she’s being shielded from the summer rain. Etoile looks up, and he’s there, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. The same quiet smile that spoke so loudly of his soft nature, deep blue eyes framed by his impossibly silvery hair that almost glowed against the black umbrella he was holding over her. He even had the simple studs pierced into his ears. There was a touch at her shoulder, and then he was speaking in a husky voice, and Etoile took her first breath since she saw him. 

 

_ “Ester...I haven’t seen you for a long time…” _

_ Deep, sad eyes. _

_ “Looks like your horns haven’t grown yet. But you look good even without them.”  _

_ She tries to joke, but her smile is tired and weak. _

 

Her brain took a few seconds to catch up to the fact that she had been snuck up on, and Etoile gave a shriek, stumbling backwards and snagging a foot on the curb. The young man managed to dart forward and grab her flailing arm, pulling her back to safety, childlike laughter on his lips and starlight in his eyes.

“You looked cold, so I thought I should come over and lend a pretty girl my aid, but it seems you need protection from gravity as well.”

“P-pretty girl?!” she sputtered out. She wasn’t a knight anymore, far from it, but a piece of her mind had retained that boyish, gruff attitude. “Hey, you were the one that crept up on me! That was your fault you bastard!” Her hand flung out to smack at his face, squeezing it teasingly before leaping back in horror, appalled at seeing herself treat a complete stranger like her best friend. _ Like Arslan… _

Chastising Arslan was something that had come naturally to her, it was the only thing she could do at the time to cope with his bewildering kindness, and within seconds of seeing his face again, she had fallen upon the twenty-five hundred year old habit.

”O-oh, um, sorry, I thought...you were someone else?”

 

_ His grip on her hand tightened despite her clammy skin, trembling with every word. _

_ “And you, you’ve become a respectable knight.” _

_ “You’re a terrible liar. How did you become leader of the evil heathens like that I wonder?” _

 

He was laughing, apparently not minding the rough-handling at all, which would be very like him, fingers still clasping her wet hand.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

She pouts, glaring at this man openly insulting her in the street.

“Well sorry for not being a sly, unscrupulous heathen!” He cracks a grin.

“Heathen? You’ve been too deep in our textbooks.”  _ Our? _ Etoile blinks questioningly. The boy points to himself. “We’re in ancient history together. I saw you today, that’s why I came over, I wanted to get your name...” He trails off shyly. ‘We both like Persian history?”

“Yeah.”  _ It’s home.  _ “It’s...got some really cool kings.” He blushes, leveling her with a knowing stare. Etoile shuffles her feet bashfully, gripping the strap of her bag and pointedly ignoring him. A long pause drifts between them.

“...It’s Ester...” 

He blinks in surprise, before his eyes wrinkle as he beams slowly, a kind smile that tugs at the corners of his face, light dancing with joy in his blue irises, or perhaps they were forming tears, but he’s gazing at her with such happiness, such gentle affection she can’t help but flush to her neck, turning away.

“I’m Arslan,” he murmurs happily.

 

_ “Arslan...” _

_ “What is it?” _

 

“It’s good to meet you, Ester.” She trembles, chest clenching painfully as it swells with emotion. Arslan had always had an aura, a pure ambience that put her at ease. Even Etoile, ever guarded, couldn’t help but sigh in contentment when she was alone with him. And right now that same feeling was washing over her like the warm summer rain around them, catching in her eyelashes until she couldn’t tell the difference between rain and tears.

 

_ “There were so many things I wanted to tell you...but it’s okay now. I could meet you again, so it’s okay...” _

_ “Ester…” _

 

“There’re so many things I want to talk to you about, but it’s okay I guess. It can wait.” She can feel him draw closer, his voice is silk, quivering with emotion like the plucked strings of an oud. She can imagine the way the words are catching in his throat, each syllable sandpaper. The world disappeared; all she could see was the gentle king sitting by her bedside with his heartbroken eyes, hawks stitched into the collar of his tunic and the silver glow around him as her vision faded.

 

_ “I just wanted to see you again…” _

“I just…”

 

The tears overflowed in her eyes as she turns and throws herself into Arslan’s arms. He wraps them around her tightly, umbrella clattering to the ground to gather rain alongside her bag. They’re buried in each other’s embrace as close as they can, sobs wracking her body as his nose presses into her hair, damp with the rain and his tears. He’s soft, and warm, and _ real. _ She can feel the fluffy yarn of his sweater under her fingertips, the muscles of his back as he trembles, clinging to her like a drowning man to air. She’s finally home again.

 

“I just wanted to see you again!”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


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**Author's Note:**

> -I call her Ester because between the Estelle/Ester translation, I think Ester suits her better. There’s also an ancient Persian queen who was called Esther.  
> -But then I end up calling her Etoile in 3rd person anyway cause everyone is more used to that name I hope it’s not confusing


End file.
